Since my blog post last week was me basically saying “sorry, no blog post this week’, I thought I’d make it up to you and make two posts this week.
One of things I’ve wanted to talk about here, but as of yet haven’t really, is role playing games as a medium of artistic expression. As an example, I want to share with you a story I wrote last year. I was running a Mage: the Awakening game, and as I was learning the game I wrote this short story. I didn’t get everything right (as I said, I wrote it while learning the game, not after) but I like it. I hope you do to.
Storm clouds are brewing outside the window of my office as the sun sets. It seems to have been getting dark earlier and earlier lately. I don’t just mean this time of year, I mean during the last several years. Since I Awakened. It’s a matter of perspective most Sleepers wouldn’t understand. Even during the daytime it seems dark to me, as I’m sure it does to most Mages. Glimpsing the Supernal Realms changes your perspective, and you see the Fallen World for what it is: a world of darkness.
A knock on the door pulls me from my thoughts. “Come in” I say. The door opens slowly to reveal the poorly lit figure of a young woman wearing a black trench coat. As she walks into the pool of yellow light cast by the lamp in the corner she pulls back the sides of her coat and puts her hands on her hips. Black tank tob underneath a fish net shirt. Low cut leather pants. Black boots. Black fingernails. Black hair with blond roots. Tribal tattoo around a pierced naval. I get the impression that I’m supposed to be turned on by all this.
“Are you Ronnie Masterson, the private investigator?” she says in a tone she thinks is seductive.
“Yes. And you are Elvira, the Herald for the Consilium.”
“Oh, you know about little old me?” Her voice is thick with fake modesty.
“Yes. More than you’d probably want me to know.” She starts to laugh until she realizes I’m not kidding, then awkwardly clears her throat. Before awakening and choosing the shadow nave Elvira, she was Brittany McPherson, a cheerleader from Des Moines Iowa. Then she became a Mage, adopted the whole goth/whore schtick and moved here. A lot of the willworkers in this town wonder how she became a Consilium official at such a young age, which only proves that mages can be idiots too.
“I assume” I continue, “that your here on behalf of the Hierarch? Official business and all that?”
“Yes. A cabal of younger mages were recently found dead. Murdered, actually. It looks like the work of a Banisher but we haven’t been able to find him. We heard you’re pretty good.”
I hate tracking Banishers. They know all the same spells the rest of us do, and their rhetoric about how evil magic is doesn’t seem to stop them from using it. The good thing about jobs like this though, is you can ask for a lot. Hazard pay and all that.
“Does the Hierarch know what my fee for Banishers is?” She hands me an envelope.
“Here’s half” she says, standing way too close. I count it and it’s all there.
“Inform him that I’m on the job.” She smiles, winks at me, than walks out in a way that I can only assume was meant to keep my attention on her ass. Once she’s gone I roll my eyes. Then I sit down at the desk and grab the phone. Time to get to work.
A few hours later and I’m stepping out of a cab into the rain. I got a tip that our guy might be one of the locals at a dive bar in the run down part of town. I walk in and find myself in every shitty bar you’ve ever been to. Overpriced jukebox playing loud country. TV showing a football game, turned up to blast out the music. Two drunk Irish guys at the end of the bar singing their drinking songs over all of it. Two fat bikers playing pool on an old, run down table. Hicks and yokels everywhere you look, and all of them are staring at me. A lot of women complain about men oggling them, but it’s the chicks that bother me. Most guys try to be smooth about it, but the dykes in this town have no sense of subtlety.
As I make my way to the bar, I casually cast an Unveiling spell to see if there’s any signs of magic use, and of course I see nothing. It was a long shot, but it’s good to cover all your bases. I order a drink and and try to get some information from the bartender, but I don’t really know what to ask him. I don’t know what the Banisher looks like or anything, and it’s not like I can just say “Hey, do you know a mage who likes killing other mages?” After a few minutes I give up and let the bartender get back to work. Suddenly I feel two hands come down on my shoulders, and I realize too late that the Irish guys stopped singing a while ago. A voice in my right ear says something that would sound like gibberish to anyone else. Sleepers will never know how funny it is to hear High Speech in an Irish accent.
“Your time has come.”
Fuck, must have seen my Nimbus when I cast the spell earlier. I’m getting sloppy tonight. Another voice speaks English into my left ear.
“Why don’t you come outside with us, sweatheart?”
Two of them. That’s good, that means I can charge double. If I survive, that is.
“Why in the hell would I go outside with you? How stupid do you think I am?”
“Oh, what, you don’ think we’ll do it hear if we have to?”
The guy makes a solid point. With all these people around it would be risky to cast any vulgar spells, but I doubt these guys would hesitate to do that. Outside I hear a crack of thunder, and suddenly going outside with these guys seems like a good idea. Gotta play it cool though, if I seem to change my mind too quickly they’ll be on to me. I get my hands to shake just the right way and drop my voice to a trembling whisper.
“Please, don’t do this. You don’t have to do this.”
“Oh, but we want to” one of them says, and grabs me by the arms. I pretend to be too weak and scared to struggle and let them drag me out back. The rain is really coming down know and I can see flashes of lighting in the distance. Best part is, not another soul around. I couldn’t have planned this better.
They throw me down to the ground and are suprised when I stand up laughing. I’m never unarmed in a storm. I hold my hands up like guns and point at them. I drop my thumbs like hammers and call down the lightning. But as soon as I do I can tell something went wrong.
The next thing I know I’m in a hospital bead with a tube down my throat. The drugs make the room look much darker than it is and I can barely see the nurse on the side of the bed. She tells me I was struck by lighting. She tells me the guys they found me with were killed by it. She tells me that I’m lucky to be alive.
Ok, maybe I could have planned that better.